It was that sermon on heaven of which there is an abstract in this journal. 20th. Aunt Winifred hired Mr. Tripp’s gray this afternoon, and drove to East Homer on some unexplained errand. She did not invite me to go with her, and Faith, though she teased impressively, was left at home. Her mother was gone till late,--so late that I had begun to be anxious about her, and heard through the dark the first sound of the buggy wheels, with great relief. She looked very tired when I met her at the gate. She had not been able, she said, to accomplish her errand at East Homer, and from there had gone to Worcester by railroad, leaving Old Gray at the East Homer Eagle till her return. She told me nothing more, and I asked no questions. XV. Sunday. Faith has behaved like a witch all day. She knocked down three crickets and six hymn-books in church this morning, and this afternoon horrified the assembled and devout congregation by turning round in the middle of the long prayer, and, in a loud and distinct voice, asking Mrs. Quirk for “‘nother those pepp’mints such as you gave me one Sunday a good many years ago, you ’member.” After church, her mother tried a few Bible questions to keep her still. “Faith, who was Christ’s father?” “Jerusalem!” said Faith, promptly. “Where did his parents take Jesus when they fled from Herod?” “O, to Europe. Of course I knew that! Everybody goes to Europe.” To-night, when her mother had put her to bed, she came down laughing. “Faith does seem to have a hard time with the Lord’s Prayer. To-night, being very sleepy and in a hurry to finish, she proceeded with great solemnity:--‘Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; six days shalt thou labor and do all thy work, and--Oh!’ “I was just thinking how amused her father must be.” Auntie says many such things. I cannot explain how pleasantly they strike me, nor how they help me. 29th. Dr. Bland gave us a good sermon yesterday. There is an indescribable change in all his sermons. There is a change, too, in the man, and that something more than the haggardness of grief. I not only respect him and am sorry for him, but I feel more ready to be taught by him than ever before. A certain indefinable _humanness_ softens his eyes and tones, and seems to be creeping into everything that he says. Yet, on the other hand, his people say that they have never heard him speak such pleasant, helpful things concerning his and their relations to God. I met him the other night, coming away from his wife’s grave, and was struck by the expression of his face. I wondered if he were not slowly finding the “peaceful day,” of which he told Aunt Winifred. She, by the way, has taken another of her mysterious trips to Worcester. 30th. We were wondering to-day where it will be,--I mean heaven.